Lawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering the house,
seeking for a corner wherein to slumber off the effect
of his potations. Dick inwardly raged.
The spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured
as he found he had to deal with an intoxicated man,
and now, with a movement of cat-like rapidity, slipped
from the chamber, and was gone from Richard’s
eyes.
What was to be done? If he lost touch of Lawless
for the night, he was left impotent, whether to plan
or carry forth Joanna’s rescue. If, on
the other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw,
the spy might still be lingering within sight, and
the most fatal consequences ensue.
It was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that Dick
decided. Slipping from behind the tapestry, he
stood ready in the doorway of the chamber, with a
warning hand upraised. Lawless, flushed crimson,
with his eyes injected, vacillating on his feet, drew
still unsteadily nearer. At last he hazily caught
sight of his commander, and, in despite of Dick’s
imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly
by his name.
Dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously.
“Beast!” he hissed—“beast
and no man! It is worse than treachery to be
so witless. We may all be shent for thy sotting.”
But Lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried
to clap young Shelton on the back.
And just then Dick’s quick ear caught a rapid
brushing in the arras. He leaped towards the
sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging
had been torn down, and Dick and the spy were sprawling
together in its folds. Over and over they rolled,
grappling for each other’s throat, and still
baffled by the arras, and still silent in their deadly
fury. But Dick was by much the stronger, and
soon the spy lay prostrate under his knee, and, with
a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to breathe.
Throughout this furious and rapid passage, Lawless
had looked on helplessly, and even when all was over,
and Dick, already re-arisen to his feet, was listening
with the most passionate attention to the distant
bustle in the lower storeys of the house, the old
outlaw was still wavering on his legs like a shrub
in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly staring on
the face of the dead man.
“It is well,” said Dick, at length; “they
have not heard us, praise the saints! But, now,
what shall I do with this poor spy? At least,
I will take my tassel from his wallet.”
So saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he found
a few pieces of money, the tassel, and a letter addressed
to Lord Wensleydale, and sealed with my Lord Shoreby’s
seal. The name awoke Dick’s recollection;
and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents
of the letter. It was short, but, to Dick’s
delight, it gave evident proof that Lord Shoreby was
treacherously corresponding with the House of York.
